


Long Time Coming

by SurlyCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Body Image, Dean is a Softie, Declarations Of Love, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Growing Old Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Schmoop, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, it's actually just an implied kink, thought I'd warn you though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SurlyCat/pseuds/SurlyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still has his towel wrapped around his hips, and just happens to look over to the mirror, frowning in confusion as he notes the way his belly kind of squishes up a little bit, forming a slight roll that he can't remember having before. He straightens back up, and the roll immediately stretches back out until it's all just normal looking skin. Without thinking, he turns sideways and pokes at the little pooch that seems to have taken up residence. </p><p> <em>This was inspired by Jensen's tweet about Dean gaining weight over the holidays, and the massive positive response to it that made me smile a lot.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Because the mid-season left so many feeling unsatisfied, here, have something with an ending ^_^

The first time Dean notices the bit of softness that's accumulated around his belly is after a shower, as he's standing mostly naked in front of the full-length mirror, and bent over to retrieve the boxers he'd laid out from the foot of the bed nearby. He still has his towel wrapped around his hips, and just happens to look over to the mirror, frowning in confusion as he notes the way his belly kind of squishes up a little bit, forming a slight roll that he can't remember having before. He straightens back up, and the roll immediately stretches back out until it's all just normal looking skin. Without thinking, he turns sideways and pokes at the little pooch that seems to have taken up residence.

Dean has never been very self-conscious about his body, aside from a few lewd remarks about his bowlegs, and a few frustrating years in his early twenties when more than a few people commented on how pretty he was, before he finished growing into himself. Since reaching full adulthood though, the ruder comments have slacked off to be replaced with appreciative looks, so Dean just simply doesn't think about his body. He knows on some level that his physique is nothing special, but it isn't unattractive either, so physical insecurity has never really registered in his mind about his looks; he has enough emotional insecurity to make up for it.

For the first time in thirty-five years, Dean Winchester feels a prickle of real anxiety about his body as he looks at the mirror.

When he was younger, he could shove it to the back of his mind, under the pretense of knowing that he'd eventually age and stop looking like a twink; it was just one more thing to put up with for a short period. This time though, it's different, because it's a blatant reminder of two things: Dean is, in fact, aging into those years where your habits start to catch up with your body and you start to consider your own mortality, and also, that Cas has been looking at this pooch for god knows how long.

Just last night, Dean had had his knees nearly up to his own chest while Cas fucked him into the mattress, and Dean can only imagine how many rolls he must have conjured up for _that_. The mere thought has his eyes darting up to his face, and then he's tilting his head down in a mimicry of how he must have had his head positioned and sighs when he sees that yes, he does in fact sport quite the double chin like this.

Cas had called him beautiful as he'd leant down to kiss Dean's neck, before they both climaxed soon after. But how could he say that? From Cas' point of view, Dean must have looked a mess of sweaty, rolly, extra-chinned, aging man, that was making far too many high-pitched noises to be dignified. Now that he's considering all of this, it's somewhat mortifying, as he realizes exactly how much he and Cas have been naked around each other. It wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the fact that Cas is freakin' flawless and would still look gorgeous covered head to toe in dirt and wearing a burlap sack.

Oh god, Cas is so out of Dean's league.

The man in question is busy right now, bustling around the kitchen and living room as he packs up the food and presents that he and Dean will be bringing over to Sam's, for the family Christmas get-together. The sound of paper ripping and Cas muttering a curse from the other room draws Dean's attention to the present, where he's currently 0% ready to leave, and needs to get a move on so they can get out the door on time. Though he'd never admit it, Dean is grateful that Sam and Jo have insisted that everyone wear ugly Christmas sweaters for the third year in a row; at least that hideous pile of yarn masquerading as apparel in his closet is baggy enough to camouflage his tummy.

An hour and a half later, Dean is standing in Sam's kitchen, sprinkling fried onions on top of the green bean casserole, when familiar arms wrap around his waist from behind and Cas rests his chin on Dean's shoulder to see what he's doing. Naturally, Dean relaxes into Cas' hold, insecurity forgotten until one of Cas' hands rubs right over his stomach, and then Dean tenses as the memory of his discovery comes rushing back. Cas hums a soft, questioning sound next to his ear, but Dean just gives a barely-there shake of his head and squirms to get away from Cas' hands, busying himself with moving to find the pepper shaker and making it look Very Important so that maybe Cas will feel like the kitchen is a bit too crowded and back off. It works, but not without a parting look of confusion, suspicion, and a bit of hurt at being dismissed.

Despite the discovery earlier that morning, Dean doesn’t hold back eating what he wants at lunch because it's freakin' Christmas and there's an awesome spread, and like hell is he going to pass all that up. Because let's face it; the pooch is already there, and one more meal isn't going to make that much of a difference. Besides, most people put on a little bit of weight around the holidays, right? Yeah, this is totally okay. Dean can get away with it, he decides, and refuses to let himself feel bad about the monstrosity that Ellen is serving out that seems like a diabetic coma waiting to happen; some sort of croissant-Oreo-chocolate-glazed hybrid that is fucking amazing. He's standing near the tree some minutes after finishing his treat, when Cas comes out of the bathroom and decides to join him, wrapping an arm around Dean's back so they can watch Sam and Jo's little ones open their gifts.

Dean vaguely registers Garth hovering a few feet away, but isn't paying attention until Cas turns to lean his front into Dean's side, and brings a hand up to rest right on Dean's stomach, almost possessively. He tells Dean to smile, and Dean finally notices that Garth is trying to take a picture of them. It's a bit nerve wracking, but Dean only has time to flash a quick smile, before the moment is over, and he lets out a breath. Cas gives him an odd look, eyebrows scrunched together, but returns to his original position, and all is well again. As much as it can be anyway, with photographic evidence of Dean's previous poor decisions in existence, now.

"You seem off today. Is something wrong?" Cas murmurs, so only Dean can hear.

"What? No," Dean says, adding on an unnecessary hand flap and 'pffffft' sound that has him internally cringing at how disingenuous it all sounds, even to his own ears.

Cas squints at him for a moment. "Will you tell me later?" he asks, steamrolling right past Dean's reply, as if Dean hadn't just blatantly bullshitted his answer.

Dean shrugs, "I'm fine, Cas."

With an unhappy sigh, Cas steps away to look through the pictures that Garth has captured so far, granting Dean the space that he hadn't realized he'd needed for a little while.

The ride home is somewhat tense and quiet, though both men are doing their damnedest to pretend they're both just tired, because this isn't a fight; Cas is just being frustratingly concerned, and Dean isn't doing anything at all to reassure him. Dean knows that Cas is being patient with him, waiting on him to say something, but Dean also knows that Cas has his limits and won't let them go to bed without talking about what has Dean in a funk.

"Mind if we just sit around and watch Christmas movies and veg?" Dean asks when they get home. Meaning: mind if we put off talking about this with an activity that keeps our clothes on?

Cas doesn't seem perturbed or suspicious of Dean's motives and agrees to the movie, the two them settling on A Christmas Story. As per usual for them, Dean ends up lying on his side with his head in Cas' lap, practically purring as those long, nimble fingers scratch soothingly at his scalp. Cas' lap is warm and comfortable and familiar, and it isn't hard for Dean to genuinely space out on the Issue. The wandering of Cas' hand is so routine and casual, that Dean doesn't quite notice when Cas' hand ends up skirting beneath the hem of his sweater and landing on his stomach to trace idle patterns. All Dean knows at the moment is that he's feeling the contentment of being at home with Cas and enjoying those little touches that Cas likes to give, and not thinking about anything in particular. But then the motion stops and Cas lets that broad palm simply rest where it is, and yes, Dean does notice its location, then. Christ, has Cas always been this touchy with his stomach, or is Dean just hyper-aware now?

Before he's quite planned on it, Dean is sucking in his gut, which earns him an immediate response as he feels Cas' eyes burn into his head, and his hand is removed from Dean's body.

"Okay, that's it," Cas mutters, reaching for the remote, and turning the volume down on the TV. "What the hell is going on, because one minute you're just fine being touched, and then the next you're practically repulsed. Kind of getting mixed signals here, and I'm pretty sure that a year and a half into a relationship is a little late for trying to figure out if you want me or not. And especially after the three years prior to that of dancing around each other, and the five years of friendship before that," he says, an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

Dean takes in Cas' features and realizes that Cas is actually looking a bit afraid and hurt. Oh. Oh god no, does Cas actually think Dean is pushing him away? Like impending-breakup-pushing-away? Sitting up, Dean turns sideways to face Cas, already feeling his cheeks burning at the thought of what he's going to say, but he needs to do it if he wants to get that kicked puppy look off of Cas' face.

"I'm getting old and fat, and you keep touching my cushion," Dean blurts. And wow, that's so much more blunt and childish-sounding than he meant to be.

Cas blinks at him for a moment, brain clearly trying to recalibrate with the unexpected confession and figure out how to respond.

"I don't even know where to begin with that," Cas finally says.

Dan shrugs, looking away. He knows that Cas is literally considering where to begin, and gives him time to find his words. After a moment Cas clears his throat.

"First of all, have you forgotten that I'm older than you by _five years_? Second, you are not fat, so knock it off with that crap, and I wouldn't care if you were, anyway. Third, I'd like to know what brought this on, and fourth?" Cas pauses, to cross his arms over his chest and tilt his head. "Are you going to dole out such shallow feelings when the wrinkles in _my_ forehead get deeper, and I sprout gray hairs, and my balls get saggy? Because in case you haven't noticed, I don't look like I did when we met, either."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up at the last question, it grabbing his attention the most. "You still want to be naked around me when we're old enough to have saggy balls?"

So maybe Dean could have phrased that better, but Cas knows him well enough to understand the implied question beneath the one Dean actually asked, and softens a little, huffing a small laugh, though he does blush a little bit.

"Dammit, Dean, did you really have to pick today to do this?" Cas asks, seemingly more to himself than Dean, then sighing and rubbing a hand over his face.

"Well excuse me for ruining your Christmas. Because I totally planned on finding a surprise fat roll and doing this today, and talking about my feelings crap for once. Sorry I shat on your goddamned parade," Dean glares, standing up.

"No! God, that's not what I- will you just?" Cas darts his hand out to catch Dean's wrist and tug, uncharacteristically flustered. "Shit," he mutters, shaking his head before looking back up. "We're both idiots, and I need you to sit back down, please."

Dean frowns, but doesn't move either way, and Cas gives a resigned sigh through his nose, loosening his grip on Dean's wrist to slide down and twine their fingers. He tugs again, looking up at Dean pleadingly, and Dean can't resist that look so he sits back down. _Whiiiiipped_ , a suspiciously Sam like voice whispers from the back of Dean's brain.

"Dean," Cas says on a sigh, rubbing his forehead. When he looks back up, Cas almost looks like he's asking to not have to say something, but Dean doesn't know what Cas is requesting to keep to himself and can only give him a curious look of his own. Dean can practically see the internal groan written on Cas' face before the man deigns to just get on with it.

"I had this nice little speech all lined up in my head and was going to do it all right, but you kind of put a dent in my plan with all this, and I think I should go ahead and tell you before the timing looks wrong, that I was going to ask you to marry me tonight. It was going to be cozy and happy, with the tree lit up and hot chocolate and everything. So um, yes, I would definitely like to still be naked with you when we're both verging on Saggy Baggy Elephant," Cas says in a rush of verbal diarrhea, blue eyes wide and somewhat shocked with himself, before looking somewhere between apologetic and hopeful.

A long moment passes while Dean takes it all in, the clock on the kitchen wall ticking loudly into the silence like the world's worst movie cliché.

"Holy shit," Dean finally breathes, not even bothering to stop his eyebrows' attempt to defy anatomy and join his hairline.

A blush rises up Cas' neck and spreads onto his cheeks and ears before he looks away, clearly waiting on Dean to say something else. The conversation has gotten way out of control, and it takes Dean a minute to figure out what to say.

"Did you just fucking _propose_ to me?" is what he ends up going with. Yes, very sensitive and gentle.

"Um…" Cas rubs his neck, "Yeah? I mean, I guess I technically didn't, but I'd also kind of like to know your thoughts on the idea," he says, barely above a mumble.

Another pause.

"Cas, I love you so much baby, but that has got to be the worst proposal ever," Dean says, a grin creeping up on his face.

"Yes, well. You're the one that 'shat' on my 'parade'," Cas says testily, air quotes and all.

Dean rubs his hands over his face, in an attempt to stifle the laugh threatening to come out. Christ, it really was the worst proposal; Dean wasn't kidding, but the terribleness of it makes him love the man next to him even more because it's just so _Cas_. The man's social skills have grown by leaps and bounds over the years, but this right here? This is the Cas that he met almost ten years ago. t strikes Dean then, that he really _hasn't_ noticed the wrinkles in Cas' forehead- or anywhere else for that matter- because when he looks at Cas or thinks about him, Dean still sees the thirty-year-old version that he first met. Is that what Cas sees when he looks at _Dean_? Dean at twenty-five, still baby faced, with a shit-eating grin on his lips, and far more swagger in his stride than he'd earned yet?

The realization hits like a smack in the face, and Dean feels like exactly the idiot that Cas claimed them both to be just minutes before.

"You know, we've both got around thirty or forty years left in us. That means that by the time we kick it, we'll have known each other for about _half_ a _century_. You sure you really wanna put up with my ass that long?" Dean asks, only half-joking.

Cas seems to relax at that and grins, before leaning in to rest their foreheads together, one hand on Dean's neck, and the other on his shoulder. Dean knows something important is about to be said by the way Cas takes a deep, fortifying breath as he closes his eyes, and Dean can't help but steel himself, too. There have been plenty of moments between them, both as friends and lovers, but Dean is pretty sure that this one is going to be nothing like the rest.

"Dean Winchester, love of my life, and pain in my ass in every sense of the phrase, may I please have the pleasure of receiving your love for half a century?" Cas asks quietly, voice wavering and thick.

 _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._ Dean's breath is caught in his throat, and this might be the absolute sappiest moment of his entire life. Well, aside from the day his oldest niece was born and Dean admittedly shed several unmanly tears when the tiny little girl let out her first cries as she entered the world, and then even more tears when she was handed over to him later, a bundle of blankets with a blotchy-pink little mushed-up face peeking out. For being so fresh from the oven, she undeniably had Mary Winchester's nose.

Cas has only seen Dean cry twice, that day being one of them, and receiving the news of his father's death being the other; and apparently Cas is now witness to a third time, because Dean just can't hold it back. _Love of my life, asking me to love him._ Jesus, why did Cas have to word it that way and do all the touching?

 _Because you're both secret romantics and you damn well know it,_ that stupid Sam voice pipes in, 'you're both gross morons who deserve each other' included in the imaginary tone that Dean has heard far too often from his brother.

And now Cas' hands are trembling a little bit where they're touching Dean's skin, and it's not helping the tear situation. At. All.

"Asshat, making me cry," Dean says around a watery laugh, bringing both hands up to rest on either side of Cas' neck. "But yeah, Cas, I love you too. Need you. And- and I'd like to spend the next few decades with you, too."

Cas lets out a shuddering breath, hands shaking even more now, before his own watery laugh makes its way out. Leaning back just enough to adjust the angle, Cas comes in for a kiss that doesn't even pretend to start out chaste, both of their nerves too frazzled to attempt anything soft and sweet. It's greedy and a bit sloppy, and definitely not the finest performance for either of them, but both feeling too overwhelmed to care at the moment.

Dean is the first to pull back, gulping air like a man close to drowning. "Engagement sex?"

Cas' eyes light with amusement for only a moment before they darken with desire above a smirk. "Engagement sex," he repeats back with a single nod.

Frankly, there's too much going on in Dean's head at the moment to remember to be self-conscious when they reach the bedroom and Cas yanks that damnable sweater over Dean's head and rips- fucking rips!- Dean's button-down open, buttons flying off .

"Holy fuck, Cas!"

"You have a blasphemy kink you haven't told me about?" Cas smirks, already yanking on Dean's belt. "Never had sex anywhere near a church, but I'd be willing to change that," he purrs, only half-teasing. Dean's pants are open and sliding down, and he doesn't even care that he can't remember the movements leading up to that.

Dean and Cas have had a hell of a lot of sex and all but a few times have been awesome, but this? This is a side that Cas has never really shown, and if someone had told Dean ten years ago that Sam's nerdy, awkward professor in a trench coat was like _this_ , Dean would've gotten a six pack from laughing in their face.

"What kind of kinky fucker are you, and where did my boyfriend go?" Dean asks, grinning wonderingly.

"Oh Dean, I'll try just about anything once. I thought you knew that already," Cas says, looking darkly at Dean through his lashes, pulling his own pants and boxers off. When did he even take his sweater off?

Dean swallows, taking in the information, but unable to let his thoughts wander too far before he's distracted by Cas nudging him toward the bed. There isn't a top or bottom in their relationship, but apparently, Cas is feeling toppy tonight and Dean isn't going to complain when Cas is looking at him like a jungle cat zeroed in on its prey.

"On your back, please," Cas says, voice husky and rubbing Dean exactly the right way.

Before he's even completely on the bed, Cas is following him up there, and settling above Dean to kiss the breath away from his lungs. It's certainly passionate, but the sexual heat has simmered down to a slower burn, the press of their lips forming the words they can't say aloud, shaped like prayers for each other. Someday they'll get to verbalizing, but as of now, neither man has ever bared so much, and Dean wants to punch himself in the face for how close he feels to crying again, because love of his life on top of him or not, Dean Winchester does not cry during sex.

Cas makes his way across Dean's jaw and down his neck, trailing light but possessive kisses, from the collarbone down, never staying one place for too long. By the time he reaches Dean's ribs, the self-consciousness from earlier is making a weak attempt at rearing its head, the blatant love and lust in Cas' touch doing much to squash it down. When Cas reaches a particularly soft part of Dean's stomach, he gives the skin a light nip that Dean isn't prepared for, making an undignified sound of surprise.

"This here?" Cas says, voice dipping down to nearly a growl, one hand spread across Dean's abdomen, "Is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I actually happen to be quite infatuated with every single inch of you, but especially here," he says, punctuating the remark with a harsh kiss at the bottom edge of the curve of his stomach, next to Dean's hip, that will most certainly have a hickey blooming on the skin there.

"Is that-" Dean breaks off to swallow around a too-dry throat, "So I'm not crazy that you've really been touching it a lot," he says, only barely turning it up in a question at the end.

Humming, Cas nuzzles affectionately at the softness below him. "Nope, not crazy," he says with a small grin, hands wandering down Dean's hips, closer to where Dean really wants them.

Yes, finally.

Before he can get too excited about that though, Dean is squawking out yet another sound of surprise when his fiancé- Jesus _that's_ a thought- decides right in the middle of seductive times to blow a goddamned raspberry right on the very squishiest part of his gut.

"Cas!" Dean tries to bark out around an involuntary laugh. "You fucker! Why?!"

Cas cackles and dips right back in to do it again, seeming to relish the way Dean's muscles twitch and leap and shrink away at the ticklish touch.

"Why do we do it to babies and toddlers?" Cas asks with a shrug, horribly cute grin on his stupid scruffy face.

"Well, because…" Dean tries to explain, then realizes he doesn't quite have an answer. "I don't know. Because their bellies are little and cute and round and soft, and they giggle as long as you only do it for a few seconds," he shrugs.

Cas is giving him a look that clearly says, 'and there you have it'.

"I'm not sure whether you're being cute like a shithead, or cute for real," Dean grumps.

Cas just grins and shrugs, and Dean decides 'cute for real', but doesn't utter it aloud, because like hell is he going to give Cas ammunition. Shitfire, the man spends at least 60% of his time being fucking cute as it is, to the point that Dean doesn't even care that Cas stopped right in the middle of seducing him to blow fucking raspberries on his pudge. Not that he would ever admit any of that.

Dean isn't exactly sure why Cas is suddenly showing all this blatant interest in Dean's belly, but he suspects that it isn't just because Dean was feeling down about it all day. It's a little too enthusiastic, and it occurs to Dean that Cas might actually have been holding himself back for fear of causing the exact reaction that Dean went through earlier. Apparently, the idea of permanence with Dean is pulling out all kinds of behaviors out of Cas, but if this is how he's going to be for the next however long they're physically capable of having sex, Dean is certainly not going to complain.

 

***

Apparently, Dean Winchester does in fact cry during sex.

At least, when he's being made love to as if he were something precious enough to be held close, pressed against Cas' chest. For a moment, Dean wondered if Cas was trying press their hearts together until they could nearly touch, but it made Dean blush at his own embarrassingly romantic thought, and he was glad to be able to blame the blush on the exertion of sex. In the end, he made a compromise with himself that he would allow himself twenty-four hours to have all the sappy thoughts and say all the sappy things that tumbled out without trying to take them back or cover them up, figuring he could get away with it, considering the new turn in their relationship. After all, finding out you're the love of someone's life is kind of earth shattering.

He holds to his compromise, until it breaks on the day of their wedding. With every year that passes, Dean crumbles just a little more, loves more fiercely, and speaks with less reserve. On the morning of their thirtieth anniversary, he wakes his husband up to a flurry of kisses across the lines of Cas' face that Dean has come to love so much; Dean has been fortunate enough to have known this man long enough that he's slowly witnessed the appearance of each and every one of them. Surprising to pretty much everyone that knows them, Cas is the one that ended up becoming grumpy with age between the two of them, and Dean isn't surprised at all when his husband bats a hand at him, irritated at having been woken up so early. Dean merely chuckles and rolls enough to lay half on top of the other man, pinning Cas' arm with his body, and holding the other one down with a still fairly strong hand. He continues peppering kisses until Cas huffs and cracks open sleepy blue eyes.

"You know better; we're too old for that crap anymore," Cas grumbles, voice even more graveled with age, and pointedly pushing his hips- and obviously soft dick- against Dean. Dean isn't up for it either, and that hip grind served as show-and-tell more than anything.

Dean snickers and presses a kiss to the laugh lines fanning out at Cas' left eye. "No shit, sweetheart. Can't I just say Happy Anniversary?"

The grumpy look on Cas' face softens and a sleepy smile makes its way to his lips.

"Yes, dear," he smirks, sassy as ever. "Happy Anniversary."

A look of long-shared affection passes between them, before Dean snorts a laugh at a memory from long ago.

"I think we officially qualify as having made it to the saggy balls point in our lives," Dean grins.

Cas huffs a laugh, finally giving Dean a kiss of his own. "Give us ten more years and we'll be at Saggy Baggy Elephant status."

Dean hums contentedly against Cas' temple, lips brushing against the skin there. 

"Bring it."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope I didn't hurt your teeth too badly ;)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://surly-cat.tumblr.com), if you want to swing by and have some feelings with me. 
> 
> If you want to keep up with my progress on the slew of fics I seem to constantly be writing, I tag all of my fic-related things [here](http://surly-cat.tumblr.com/tagged/surlycat+writes).


End file.
